


One Thousand, Eight Hundred Pennies

by quiet_or_die



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M, don't fuck with cashiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:12:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet_or_die/pseuds/quiet_or_die
Summary: Genjo Sanzo is working the cash register, when two punks decide to pull a mean-spirited prank. Unfortunately for them, Sanzo's spite is more than capable of taking the bait, along with the unwitting fishers. . . .





	One Thousand, Eight Hundred Pennies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beccafiend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beccafiend/gifts).



> Inspired by a tumblr post I read.
> 
> I do not own Saiyuki or any of its amazing characters, not that I mind as Minekura is a phenomenal artist and writer. I hope I do her characters even 1/4 of the justice they deserve. 
> 
> Just a fun little piece. 
> 
> For Becca and Ash because their thirst is great. Thanks for taking a quick look at this fic to make sure it wasn't glaringly horrible, Becca!

This job is without a doubt, the fucking worst. Sanzo’s not a fan of people in general, and working at the small mart that carries alcohol and is closest to the college is literal hell, fucking drunk frat boys. It’s the night shift and he’s stuck here for hours yet and there are two drunk idiots who’ve been here much too long (the very moment they walked through the door was too long) who are now standing a ways off from the cashier, having some whispered argument.

 

“Dude, chill, it’ll be hilarious.” The blonde finally says, staggering away from his tall, red-headed friend with a careless wave. Trying to achieve a swagger, he almost stumbles into the counter as he tosses his items down carelessly. 

 

Sanzo’s violet eyes narrow in suspicion, but he scans the items wordlessly. 

 

“Your total is 22.23.”

 

The drunk blonde grins at the redhead _ — _ who sighs and rolls his eyes, but grins back _ — _ then turns back and slams down two gallon zip-bags full of only pennies. The other customers groan and immediately switch to the only other register. Sanzo glances at the bags then glares at the young men, neither of whom look back at him. That these two brats know what they’re doing is evident enough, but they certainly don’t know that they had chosen the worst person possible to pull this prank on. A slight smirk briefly blossoms, dark and dangerous. The redhead catches the tail end of it, and eyes him warily.

 

“Is this 22.23?” Sanzo asks. No answer is forthcoming. “Did you count it?”

 

The blonde smirks, “nope.”

 

“Are you going to?”

 

“Nope.” 

 

Hakkai, Sanzo’s often-infuriatingly polite coworker who is under the delusion that he’s a mother hen looks over. “Excuse me, but why don’t you use the self checkout machine, it can count all your coins at once.” Sanzo shoots the brunette a frown, moves his head to the side as briefly as possible. Hakkai just raises an eyebrow in bemusement. 

 

“Nope, don’t trust them.” The redhead sniggers.

 

Hakkai blinks, surprised. “Why?” 

 

“Doesn’t count all your change right.”

 

Hakkai’s lips pull down into a frown and he shoots a look at Sanzo, who stares back steadily. “Well, I guess I’ll help.”

 

“Do what you want.” Sanzo replies, annoyed, as he unzips the bags and dumps the pennies on the counter into a mess that makes an assassin-plagued journey from China to India look easy. Sanzo begins sorting without changing his expression as Hakkai comes over. The two customers start chuckling and whispering to each other, while shooting Sanzo looks like he was less than half an insect. 

 

Between Hakkai and Sanzo, it only takes a couple seconds to devise a system _ — _ count ten, put them in a pile, then with ten stacks of ten pennies, separate them, making $1 piles. It was slow going but Sanzo and Hakkai were both efficient. Other customers coming up to the line were greeted by Hakkai’s calm smile and a polite, “if you could just get into another line.” Luckily the idiot Hazel had opened another one up. Of course, customers being customers, some of them argued or stood their ground while glaring at the cashiers challengingly, despite Hakkai’s reasonable words and professional demeanor. Idiots got the message eventually, one way or another. 

 

It takes them about ten minutes to count out thirteen dollars, when Sanzo’s hand slips and he knocks over the piles.

 

“Ah _ —” _ Hakkai exclaims, but when he looks at Sanzo, Sanzo tilts his head ever so slightly, eyes narrow. And finally, finally, Hakkai picks up on the scheme. The coworker’s polite smile returns.

 

“Ah, I’m so sorry, but it looks like I won’t be able to help any longer. Hazel is leaving soon, so I really must return to my register.” 

 

Sanzo snorts and goes back to sorting.

 

Hakaki leaves, smiling apologetically to the two customers who started this and are staring at the fallen pennies.

 

“Gonna have to count this all again,” Sanzo grunts.

 

“. . . ok.” Says the penny-carrying-ass.

 

Sanzo starts from zero and seems to go slower than before, though that’s to be expected now that he’s lost his partner. The redhead and blonde watch silently, finally keeping their damn mouths closed. 

 

Sanzo suddenly stills and stares at the piles critically, “ ‘Tch. Lost count,” then starts all over again.

 

“Really?” The redhead interjects. “You gotta start  _ again _ ?”

 

Sanzo looks up, eyes hard. “Obviously.”

 

“Why?” The blonde demands.

 

Sanzo shrugs. “The register needs the right amount, and you want the right amount.” His eyes narrow. “After all, you don’t trust the coin counter.”

 

About an hour later, Sharak wanders out of her office and walks past. She pauses, looks at Sanzo, who looks back readily, then both continue on without a word.

 

“. . . $18.”

 

“Huh?” 

 

“Only $18. . . .” Sanzo frowns and begins to recount. “Looks like $19.13.” 

 

Without a word, the blonde whips out a $5 bill. 

 

Sanzo glares at it then him. 

 

“Needed to get rid of my change.”

 

“Set it down. Gotta recount.”

 

“Seriously!?”

 

“Counted $18 the first time and $19.13 the second.”

 

With a snarl, the blonde grabs the $5, then pulls a crumpled $20 out of his pocket and practically throws it at Sanzo. Hakkai sees and his face darkens. Sanzo takes the cash, does the transaction, gives them the change, and wishes them a good night. The two start collecting their pennies while Sanzo watches, with no intention of helping. Pennies dropped, but neither of the now sober idiots picked any up. 

 

Sanzo logs out of the system, an hour after he was supposed to. Sharak just smirks. Hakkai nods and shoots Sanzo his real smile _ — _ a rarity.

 

*           *           *

 

The redhead comes back a week later. Sharak and Hakkai watch him carefully, not bothering to hide it, but Sanzo doesn’t even appear to notice. The redhead lurks until Sanzo’s register is clear then attempts a casual appearance as he walks over. Sanzo rings his items up wordlessly while the redhead waits quietly.

 

“$6.”

Mr. Redhead hands over a twenty. “Keep the change.”

 

Sanzo glares at him and hands the change back.

 

Redhead sighs. “Ok, yeah. That was kinda dickish. Look,” he fidgets with the bag of groceries for a moment. “Sorry about the other night. Banri was . . . Banri’s a jerk. I don’t hang out with him anymore.” A pause. “Don’t know why I ever did, really. . . .”

 

The Redhead looks up. Sanzo raises an eyebrow.

 

“Look, I’d like to make it up to ya . . . maybe at dinner?”

 

Sanzo’s eyebrow slams down and he scowls. “No.”

 

“Oh come on. Just dinner. Get the most expensive thing. Dessert and a drink, whatever you want.”

 

Sanzo pauses and the Redhead grins at him. Hakkai, at the next register, shakes his head at Sanzo, a warning. (The polite coworker had quite a few choice words to say about the drunk pair, and his threats became darker with each word.) And really, that’s the only reason he agrees. 

 

Sanzo doesn’t like being told what to do.

 

“Fine.”

 

The Redhead’s grin widens and he leans over the counter. “What time do you get off, huney?”

  
  
  



End file.
